Jeffrey didn’t know what to say. Here Kelly was forgiving him completely, even complimenting him. Yet the more she said, the more he felt like a heel. Not knowing how to respond, he changed the subject. He said he was glad to find her home.
“This is a good time to catch me. I just got home from work. I guess you know I don’t work at the Valley anymore.”
“No, I didn’t know that.”
“After Chris’s death I thought it would be healthy for me to go elsewhere,”
Kelly said. “So I moved into town. I’m working at St. Joe’s now. In the intensive care unit. I like it better than recovery. I guess you’re still at Boston Memorial?”
“Sort of,” Jeffrey said evasively. He felt awkward and indecisive. He was afraid she’d refuse to see him. After all, what did she owe him? She had a life of her own. But he’d gotten this far; he had to try. “Kelly,” he said at last, “I was wondering if I could drop by and talk with you for a moment.”
“When did you have in mind?” Kelly asked without missing a beat.
“Whenever’s good for you. I… I could come by now if you’re not too busy.”
“Well, sure,” Kelly said.
“If it’s inconvenient, I could..
“No, no! It’s fine. Come on over,” Kelly said before Jeffrey had a chance to finish. Then she gave him directions to her house.
Michael Mosconi had Jeffrey’s check on his blotter in front of him when he placed the call to Owen Shatterly at the Boston National Bank. He didn’t think he’d be nervous, but his stomach filled with butterflies the instant he dialed. He had taken a personal check only once before in his bail bondsman career. That transaction had turned out fine. He hadn’t been burned. But Michael had heard horror stories from colleagues. Of course if anything did go wrong, Mosconi’s biggest problem was that his underwriting company forbade him to take checks in the first place. As Michael had explained it to Jeffrey, he was putting his ass on the line. He didn’t know why he was getting to be- such a soft touch. Then again, it was a unique case. The guy was a doctor, for chrissake. Also, a $45,000 fee came along only once in a blue moon. Michael had not wanted to lose the case to his competition. So, in his way, he’d offered better terms. It had been an executive decision.
Someone at the bank answered, then put Michael on hold. Muzak floated out of the receiver. Michael drummed his fingers on the desk top. It was close to four in the afternoon. All he wanted to do was make sure the doc’s check would clear before he deposited it. Shatterly had been a friend for a long time; Michael knew there would be no problem finding out from him.
When Shatterly came on the line, Michael explained the information he needed. He didn’t have to say more. Shatterly only said, “Just a sec.”
Michael could hear him tapping his computer keys.
“How much is the check?” Shatterly asked.
“Forty-five grand,” Michael said.
Shatterly laughed. “The account only has twenty-three dollars and change.”
There was a pause. Michael stopped his drumming. He got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “You sure there’s been no deposits today?” he asked.
“Nothing like $45,000,” Shatterly said.
Michael hung up the phone.
“Trouble?” Devlin O’Shea asked, peering over the top of an old Penthouse magazine. Devlin was a big man who looked more like a sixties-style biker than a former Boston policeman. Dangling from his left earlobe was a small, gold Maltese cross ear-
ring. He even wore his hair in a neat little ponytail. Besides helping with his work, his appearance was his small way of thumbing his nose at authority now that he didn’t have to trouble himself with rules like dress codes anymore. O’Shea had been dropped from the force after a bribery conviction.
Devlin was making himself comfortable on a vinyl couch facing Michael’s desk. He was dressed in the clothes that had pretty much become his uniform since his leaving the force: a denim jacket, acid-washed jeans, and black cowboy boots.